Starvation
by CheshireCity
Summary: Sebastian's POV: Although butler to the young Phantomhive, Ciel seems so far away as Sebastian's hunger evanesces into darker desires.


79. Starvation

I crave for escape. For excitement.

My own hatred has wound me tight in endless fights. I seek out those stronger than me, those who constantly try to assert themselves over me. To control me. Shinigami bastards that always leave me bleeding and craving for more violence. One day I'll best them. But for now I have to keep running. Like a damn convict. I make my enemies and burn my bridges. The world could go to Hell for all I care. I need my own excitement. My own tortured soul to stomp down and manipulate. To toy with. To fuck with. Even if it makes me a hypocrite. I need to vent this frustration, this constant fear. I need to for once sic all of my own cruel self onto some poor wretch. No regrets; no sympathies or empathies. To inflict the same hatred that was cast onto me. I search for that singular call, that outstretched hand that I can grasp in my own and drag into my own personal Hell.

I hunger for chaos. To end this monotony.

Two years is a long time to look for excitement. To bide time until that fateful day when I can say to hell with contracts and to finally feast. I miss the chaos of years not so long passed, yet I also am bemused by that old self. Overeager and overconfident. Has humanity really changed me so? But it couldn't be. I still hunger for an end to this constant monotony. Waking, slaving, working, sleeping. Repeat. So tiresome. I look forward to the failures of other servants for my own amusement. Pitiful. A demon surely would not lower himself to these levels, to play these childish games for so long. Yet my Master never bores me, and so I remain. I wonder how long I can keep up this charade? The one I play so secretly with him. He deems me no more than a knight on his chess set, and to me he is no more than a mere pawn. So arrogant. So much like that other self of mine. But when I call checkmate on him and claim what is rightfully mine, will I plunge into that chaos I crave, or will I remain a changed person?

I starve for your soul. These days drag on.

No. Any previous doubts are gone. I underestimated him. He seeks out every chance to berate me, to set me up for failure. It only drives me further and further to a sense of madness. If I could just break this character of mine, to topple a chair, hold him helpless at my grasp, maybe then he'd understand what he is truly dealing with. He really is such a child. He doesn't even know how deep he's waded into this darkness. He doesn't know what he's tempting. The more he teases and tricks, the more eager I am for that day when I can devour his wretched soul. Certainly his path of vengeance has steeped it long enough? Drenched in the blood of those he's climbed over to reach his goal, soaking it in his particular sugary scent of strawberries, making it taste akin to the pu-erh tea that I serve to him? Certainly this starvation will end, but only once his soul is perfect for my taking…

I thirst for your mind. To conquer your schemes, to gain your approval.

He continues to taunt me. To set up elaborate games for the two of us to secretly play, hoping against hope that the other will finally stumble. But neither do. Perhaps I was blessed to have found such a human as he. He certainly has fulfilled my want for excitement. Never droll or too shallow. His cunning has caught me by surprise more than once, only serving to fuel my desire to best him. I power through every obstacle he crafts just for a glimpse of that frustrated expression on his face. He really doesn't know what he's dealing with. I wonder how far my competitiveness will drive him. How far he'll bend to try and humiliate me. But I will not break. I will construct my own traps, to lure him away. Yet every time I come close to that thrilling success, I see the flickering fear of our first meeting and pull away. Surely this need to protect, to always please and satisfy, is just another one of his clever manipulations.

I long for your body. To slake this lust that's leaving me starved.

He must be the master puppeteer to reel me in like this. Luring and ensnaring me with that brilliant mind, abusing our contract to order me about. The gall of ordering a _demon_ to do a _human's_ bidding. Yet I bow to every beck and call, determined to twist his orders to my benefit, to prove who is truly in power. To find and exploit every loophole, yet come to his rescue every time to preserve him for my own personal enjoyment. He grows older before my eyes, blossoming into a beautiful flower with hideous thorns. For such a cruel mind, his naivety remains intact. He's so clueless of the way he tosses his head; the way that soft fringe sweeps over porcelain skin, the sadistic curve of his lips. The expanse of skin that he shows off when most boys his age would have begun covering their legs. The messy way he eats the sweets I bring him, then the succulent way he goes about licking off every last crumb. He still insists that I bathe and clothe him. My hands don't shake from tiredness, Master. They ghost over those silky planes of skin, not permitted to reach out and touch, stroke, _take_. Do you know, Master, that demons your age are already committed, long since shacked up with their mate? Do you know, Master, of the impulses I barely suppress? But it is just another one of his games.

I yearn for something more. Something I can't quite place…

No matter how cliché, it keeps me up at night. He's caged me, tamed me. I think only of his face: of all of the private glances of frustration, embarrassment, pain, satisfaction, and fear. The way he gently reclines against me and only me when I come to whisk him away from harm. The smug assurance and underlying trust when I reach out to touch him. I've come to read him. His every expression and phrasing. To read what he truly means. With his games, he just bides the time, entertaining me, keeping me at bay. Had I once meant to destroy this beautiful creature? It seems like such a foreign concept now. Yet I starve for something. It churns within me whenever I see him now, whenever I am filled with the compliance to serve his every whim. It aches and I can't quite place it. This feeling, this need. I want to beat his mind games, but not break him. To consume him, but not kill him. To satisfy and explore. When he clings to me, all ill intent melts away like the darkness that once enveloped me. He has left me inverted and confused. I can no longer call myself 'demon', but I am not 'human' either. I yearn to please him with this new self of mine. I starve for the forbidden word.

I l--- you. But I'll never say.


End file.
